


king to knight (setter to ace)

by silencedmockingjay



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Awkward Kissing, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Relationship Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 14:12:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15245124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silencedmockingjay/pseuds/silencedmockingjay
Summary: One day, Oikawa Tooru will fly too close to the sun, and his wings will be set ablaze.Iwaizumi Hajime can no more than predict it happen, cannot stop it entirely from happening, because it’s written in the stars as clearly as if he stamped the words into paper.Every genius, some day, has to fall.So he watches, and waits, and stays by Oikawa’s side. Because on the inevitable day that he shatters into pieces, Hajime will be there, to put him back together.(He’s afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.)(or: a relationship study fic of iwaizumi and oikawa, through their lives)





	king to knight (setter to ace)

**Author's Note:**

> i converted this into an original story for a portfolio and died in the process because i had to cut it down to half its wordcount, enjoy the beautifully un-cut version

It starts, like many stories do, with a meeting. 

 

He is six when he meets next door neighbour Mrs Oikawa and her son, wide-eyed and curious Oikawa Tooru. 

 

Oikawa Tooru instantly turns out to be one of the biggest shits Iwaizumi Hajime has known in his life, if not  _ the  _ biggest shit. He is everything Hajime despises in a person; whiny, self-absorbed, clingy, but sly and crafty in a way that can bring adults to their knees on his beck and call. And Hajime hates him for the first few months. 

 

But as time goes on and his dislike of all things Oikawa Tooru-related lessens, he gradually begins to see. 

 

Oikawa Tooru is stubborn, steadfast, loyal. He is the first to arrive at practice and the last one to leave. He slams in spikes with a victoriousness, imperiousness, that seems to say,  _ I have walked the path of sweat and tears, clawed my way up to the top, with heavy breaths and bleeding fingers.  _ He sets the toss at perfect heights, distances, angles, each one customised and personalised to each spiker, with an ease that speaks of a master at his craft, an easiness that speaks of long years dedicated to one moment. 

 

Oikawa Tooru is ingenious, brilliant, intellectual. He is smart in a way that Hajime can only barely comprehend, although he hides it cleverly behind whiny calls of “Iwa-chan!” and clinginess and stubbornness bearing the slightest resemblance to a baby. His eyes are always watchful, vigilant, on guard, tracking the flow of the game, the dynamics of each player on the other team, strengths and weaknesses and holes in their defense all clear as day to only him. When he serves, his palm slams onto the ball with such force that Hajime can practically feel the ground tremble from where it makes contact with the floor half a court away, the other’s team defenses and courage crumbling with one hit to the core. 

 

And most importantly, he is caring, protective, attentive. He looks after each and every member of the Aoba Jousai team, carefully watches them for any sign of injuries sustained during practice, always keeps extra alien-patterned band-aids to give to Watari (who injures himself the most lunging after balls out of his reach), hands out towels after training accompanied with “Good job!” and “Nice training today! You’re getting better at those high tosses!” He glares at members of the other team as viciously as he can when they sneer under their breaths at the snobby elites from Seijoh, destroys them in game after game later on when he can, the smirk on his face seeming to say,  _ This is what you get for trash-talking my team.  _ He always knows if any of the team are feeling down, slapping them on the back to cheer them up, offering to talk them through it with soft words and kind eyes, a far cry from the snobby, self-entitled captain he always acts like around the people who are not Hajime. 

 

There are many sorts of rulers in history. Dictators who work their people into bone. Tyrants who do nothing but laze on their thrones. Monarchs who rule with an iron fist and meet bloody ends. 

 

Oikawa is none of these rulers. He looks after his citizens with grace and dignity, inspires them with fervor, and given the choice to sacrifice themselves for their leader Hajime has no doubt all his would-be citizens would do it without a second thought. 

 

There is no other way to describe it. 

 

He is a king. 

 

***

 

It is part of why he agrees, when Oikawa literally drapes himself over Hajime’s shoulders and asks- no,  _ pleads -  _ for him to attend Kitagawa Daiichi in soft, serious, hushed tones so unlike him that Hajime actually pauses, listens. 

 

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes next to his ear, hands draped lightly around Hajime’s shoulders. “Come with me to Kitagawa Daiichi.” 

 

“Why?” Hajime remembers himself retorting. “It’s unlike you to be so serious, Shittykawa.” 

 

“Please,” is all Oikawa says, ducking his head, eyes shadowed and troubled with fear and anxiety and Hajime knows that in his most vulnerable moments, Oikawa craves closeness, which is the reason why he shifts a little on the leather sofa he’s sitting on, making just enough space for Oikawa to plop down in the gap next to him, knees touching, thighs brushing. 

 

“Shittykawa,” Hajime sighs, cupping Oikawa’s cheeks with his hands, debates internally on what is the best thing to say and finally settles on, “You know I’m not going to leave you, right?” 

 

From the surprised, sudden jerk that Hajime can feel from Oikawa, Hajime knows he’s hit the nail on the head. 

 

Instead of giving Oikawa a chance to reply, Hajime just envelops him in a hug, feels Oikawa tense up at first, and then steadily relax in, hands slowly coming up to embrace Hajime as well. 

 

“Yeah,” Oikawa says, sounding seemingly choked up. “Yeah, Iwa-chan.” 

 

“Who else is going to be willing to hit your tosses?” Hajime snorts, curling into his best friend. 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“And someone has to look after you and make sure you don’t stay up too late practicing and watching matches.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“And someone’s got to make sure you believe in yourself, too.” 

 

“...Iwa-chan, are you my mom or something?” 

 

Hajime’s hand moves on instinct, and even as he jumps off the sofa and bolts after Oikawa, who is already running with his laughter dancing in the air, there is a grin on his face, because he can hear the unsaid  _ “I trust you, Iwa-chan”  _ in the air, and as he dashes across the floor and out the door to chase after his best friend, he replies in his head,  _ “Of course.”  _

 

*** 

 

Every king has a knight. 

 

Hajime likes to think that that moment was when they actually had something to compare their friendship to. 

 

Beginning to ending.

 

King to knight. 

 

Setter to ace. 

 

Oikawa Tooru to Iwaizumi Hajime. 

 

They are partners in more ways than one, together on and off the court, and if Oikawa is Icarus then Iwaizumi is the ocean, steadily running below him, ready to catch him and welcome him into his embrace with open arms. 

 

One day, Oikawa Tooru will fly too close to the sun, and his wings will be set ablaze. 

 

Iwaizumi Hajime can no more than predict it happen, cannot stop it entirely from happening, because it’s written in the stars as clearly as if he stamped the words into paper. 

 

Every genius, some day, has to fall. 

 

So he watches, and waits, and stays by Oikawa’s side. Because on the inevitable day that he shatters into pieces, Hajime will be there, to put him back together. 

 

_ ( _ _ He’s afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t.) _

 

*** 

 

_ I can’t even count how many times this has happened,  _ is all that Hajime can think of as a faceless girl in the tens of thousands that make up Oikawa’s (very persistent) fan club tells him excitedly, “Oikawa-san is such a good volleyball player! Do you think you could pass this on to him?” while nervously clutching a little gift, wrapped in pink paper and tied up with a little red ribbon. 

 

Hajime starts, and then awkwardly takes the little handwrapped gift from her with a short, “I’ll give it to him.” 

 

“Thank you!” the girl calls, already retreating, and as Hajime watches she turns and darts away back to her group of friends, and all five of them start giggling together like they’re sharing some sort of teenage gossip. 

 

Not for the first time, he sighs and drops the little gift into his backpack, before setting off to Oikawa’s house, where he’d promised the other boy that they would watch their next opponent’s match videos to see their weaknesses. 

 

*** 

 

Oikawa Tooru may be a genius. He may be popular in school. He may be slightly famous. But he is also a boy with blue-black bruises littered onto his pale skin in patterns that speak of blood and sweat and tears spent. He is a presence on the court that radiates royal power, draws all the players’ auras towards and under him like easily maneuverable pawns that he can use to win this match, the next, the next, and the next after that. He is blinding energy and playful childishness wrapped up in a singular person, a hoarse voice screaming “One more time!” at the end of each practice session, a high school captain with the aura of a king. 

 

And sometimes, Hajime really wonders. Do the people in his fanclub know this? Do they know how hard Oikawa has trained, how far he has climbed, to reach this one point, in this time? Or do they look at him and see only Oikawa Tooru, the genius volleyball god and not Oikawa Tooru, the volleyball-loving human? 

 

To Hajime, he is still the boy who used to cry when Hajime stuck bugs down his back, the boy who always came crying to Hajime because he had a new cut and he needed another alien-patterned band-aid, the boy who grabbed onto a volleyball with shining eyes and held it out to Hajime and said, “Do you want to play?”

 

The fangirls and boys in his club don’t know all this about Oikawa Tooru. And they never will. 

 

They’ll never be able to walk back home from practice with him in companionable silence, broken only by footsteps and the occasional bugs chirruping from the bushes lining the walkways. 

 

They’ll never be able to stay up late into the night with him on a sleepover, watching the TV screen showing reruns of past matches, see the reflections of the screen in his wide eyes, see them flicker from point to point on the screen, analysing, reading, plotting. 

 

They’ll never be able to roar along with him, revel in the jubilation and the pure adrenaline high of the moment when the ball falls on the opponent’s side of the court and the team is  _ there,  _ screaming their hearts out, eyes tearing up, as they tackle Oikawa and the winning spiker for a hug and collapse on the floor in one happy pile. 

 

Sometimes, Hajime quietly admits to himself, he is happy that he is the only one to know all this about Oikawa Tooru. He really is. 

 

***

 

The walk back after the loss is quiet. 

Oikawa is saying nothing, but Hajime knows that he is brooding silently over the loss, so Hajime lets him be. He can’t say anything, anyhow, when he knows that it was himself, who lost that match for the team. 

 

_ If I had gotten that spike past - if I had scored one point, if I had defeated Daichi, if I had, if I had- _

 

This is all his fault.

 

Oikawa probably doesn’t even want to speak to him, right now. 

 

So Hajime keeps quiet, and sneaks looks at Oikawa, and says nothing, counting and recounting the barely-visible freckles splattered on Oikawa’s cheeks and neck, pale in the moonlight. 

 

Suddenly, Oikawa’s feet stop in a puddle of lamplight, and when Hajime looks up from where he’s been watching the ground all this time, he sees Oikawa with the most emotionless expression he’s seen, looking wordlessly at him. 

 

They lock gazes for a while, Hajime feeling the weight of Oikawa’s gaze on him, until the intensity of his gaze forces Hajime to look away and focus on the dark trees behind him. 

 

“You don’t need to keep holding it all in, you know,” Hajime finally says, just to break the cold silence in between them. 

 

“ _ Oh _ , Iwa-chan,” and something in Oikawa’s voice makes him break, turning to look back at Oikawa, illuminated by the lamplight spilling onto the pavement. 

 

Oikawa searches Hajime’s eyes, and whatever he finds in them must be heartbreaking, because something in his own brown eyes shatters, and then they soften. “You don’t need to keep holding it all in either, you know?” 

 

It’s only then that Hajime realises he’s been chewing on his own lip, running it bloody and ragged. 

 

Oikawa doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly holds out his hands, waiting. 

 

For once, Hajime is the first to break. 

 

“It’s okay to cry,” Oikawa whispers softly, as Hajime buries his face in Oikawa’s jacket and sobs and sobs and sobs. “It’s okay to break sometimes, you know, Iwa-chan? You don’t have to keep holding it all in for the team’s sake. For  _ my  _ sake.” 

 

“I know, idiot,” Hajime grits out through his teeth, tears running down his cheeks, eyesight blurring until all he can see is the white and turquoise of the Aoba Jousai uniform. “I know.” 

 

“It’s not your fault,” Oikawa says, softly. 

 

“It is,” Hajime gasps out; a drowning man in a sea of guilt. 

 

_ I wanted to beat Karasuno with you; I wanted to defeat Shiratorizawa with you; I wanted to go to Nationals with you.  _

 

_ I wanted to see you happy. I wanted to make you proud.  _

 

_ I let you down.  _

 

_ I’m so sorry.  _

 

“It isn’t,” Oikawa repeats, more insistently, grip tightening. “Iwa-chan, do you blame me for the last set?” 

 

“Of course not!” Hajime’s head whips up, turning to look at Oikawa. “It was perfect-” 

 

“Then don’t blame yourself,” Oikawa interrupts Hajime. “You did your best, Iwa-chan. That’s all that matters.” 

 

***

 

They sleep over at Hajime’s house that night in the clothes they went to school in; Oikawa too tired to get proper supplies from his house, and Hajime too tired to bother with proper cleanliness. 

 

Hajime doesn’t have a single dream that night. 

 

When he wakes up the next morning, it is to Oikawa’s face barely inches from his own, eyes closed, backlit by the morning sun. 

 

*** 

 

“Dare,” Oikawa loudly says. “I’m not a chicken, Yahaba-chan!” 

 

Hajime does the mental equivalent of a slap to Oikawa’s face, because saying dare to a Yahaba that is still smoking with embarrassment from being forced to hold hands with Kyoutani is one of the worst things that Oikawa could have done. 

 

“I’m legally obliged to remind you guys that if this dare includes property damage, we gotta call it a night,” Watari says from where he’s lying down on the floor, belly up, with a bottle balancing on his forehead. 

 

It’s Seijoh’s annual Third Year farewell in December, and the school team is currently in Watari’s house, sprawled over an assortment of cushions and pillows pulled from sofas and beds, playing the worst game in the world. (Or at least, what Hajime thinks is the worst game in the world, because things  _ happen  _ during each year’s game. The year before, it was the then-vice captain toilet-papering Coach Mizoguchi’s car. Last year, it was the regulars of the team graffiting the walls of the gym with turquoise paint to “show school pride” that hasn’t come off to this day. He doesn’t want to know what’s going to happen this year. This year, the punishment for wimping out on a dare is twenty suicide runs around the court, and even Hajime can’t handle that much.) 

 

Yahaba seems at a loss for what dare can actually embarrass Oikawa enough to get back at him, until Kyoutani pulls him down by his shirt collar and whispers into his ear, seemingly oblivious to the stares from the team. 

 

Hajime can only grin as he sees both their heads nod together, no doubt coming up with a devilish plan to shame Oikawa, because he believes that next year? Yahaba and Kyoutani, though young, are going to  _ dominate  _ the competitions. 

 

“I got it!” Yahaba says loudly, finally drawing the attention of the entire team. “Oikawa-san!” 

 

“Yes?” Oikawa says slowly, batting his eyelashes to look the picture of innocence. “What is it you require of me, Yahaba-chan? Anything for my dearest kouhai~” 

 

“Kiss Iwaizumi-san,” Yahaba and Kyoutani say together, simultaneously, like they’ve planned for this all along. And then, as an afterthought, Yahaba adds, “On the mouth.” 

 

Hajime’s world screeches to a halt. 

 

“You want me to  _ what _ ,” he says slowly, as beside him, Oikawa makes a noise somewhere between a wheeze and a choke. 

 

“Kiss Oikawa,” Kunimi helpfully supplies, phone out and recording with the flattest face Hajime has ever seen on him, probably trying not to laugh - or as close as laughing he can get, at least. Hajime has never actually seen Kunimi laugh at something funny. 

 

“You want me to-” Hajime can’t even begin to process that thought. “Wait a minute. You want me to kiss that idiot-” Oikawa lets out an affronted whine - “ _ on the mouth _ .” 

 

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Iwaizumi-san,” Kindaichi, ever the pacifist, tries to placate him. 

 

“Although it would be great if you did,” Makki smirks, narrowing his eyes from where he’s sitting on Mattsun’s lap. 

 

‘Yeah,” Mattsun says, wiggling his thick eyebrows and doing finger guns at both Oikawa and Hajime. “It’d be blackmail material for  _ days _ .” 

 

“Weeks,” Mattsun corrects. 

 

“Nah, months.” 

 

“ _ Years _ .” 

 

“Alright, you two, stop it,” Hajime cuts into their banter, chancing a look over to Oikawa to see what his reaction will be to the dare, only to see a brilliantly red Oikawa, biting his lip. Hajime can practically  _ see  _ his internal debate, hesitating between kissing Hajime and losing his pride for a few weeks, or wimping out from the dare and doing twenty suicide runs. 

 

_ Please choose the suicide runs,  _ Hajime prays. Not because he doesn’t want to be kissed by Oikawa, but because watching Oikawa run twenty suicide runs would be a lot more funny. 

 

“Sure,” Oikawa says, and Hajime  _ groans.  _

 

Makki and Mattsun are never going to let him live this down. 

 

“So… who starts first?”

 

“You go first.” 

 

“No, you,” Hajime scowls at Oikawa, who has his arms folded and his bottom lip sticking out in a pout like the sourpuss he is. 

 

“No, you should do it, Iwa-chan.” 

 

“It’s your dare, you do it.” 

 

“But Iwa-chan~”

 

“God!” Hajime finally snaps, scooting the last few centimeters to Oikawa, grabbing his face roughly, and then pulling him down for the kiss. 

 

It is, quite possibly, one of the worst decisions Hajime has made in his life, because he ends up slamming his and Oikawa’s teeth into each other and it’s at a very awkward angle and because Oikawa is apparently refusing to  _ move  _ their noses keep bumping into each other, shooting tendrils of pain into Hajime’s face. 

 

In conclusion, Hajime isn’t sure how a good kiss is supposed to feel, but he’s pretty damn sure it isn’t supposed to feel like he just got a rock thrown into his face. 

 

Dimly, he’s aware of the stunned silence from the rest of the team. Why are they so quiet? Does he need to do something else? Is there supposed to be any movement? What’s next?

 

Maybe he’s kissing Oikawa too carefully? 

 

On a spur of the moment decision, he sticks his tongue in. 

 

The reaction he gets from Oikawa is instantaneous. Oikawa literally  _ leaps  _ backwards, landing on the floor with an  _ oof,  _ staring at Hajime with the most shocked look on his face he has ever seen, and his entire face as red as a tomato. 

 

The entire team is quiet, staring. 

 

“Holy shit,” Watari breaks the silence. “Did I see tongue there?” 

 

Yahaba looks like his world has just shifted on its axis. Beside him, Kyoutani looks like he badly wants to laugh but can’t for risk of him losing his punk reputation. 

 

Hajime looks around the room, to see Makki frozen in the middle of eating a potato chip, with Mattsun’s arms around his waist, and Mattsun himself with his jaw on the floor. Kunimi is still filming everything with his poker face, and poor Kindaichi looks absolutely mortified _ ,  _ his face completely red and hidden in his shirt. Hajime makes a note to apologise to him later. 

 

“That was the least romantic kiss I’ve ever seen, holy shit,” Watari says again, and the sad thing is that Hajime can’t even disagree with him. 

 

“Well, how was it?” Makki finally asks, crunching down on the potato chip in his mouth. 

 

Hajime opens his mouth to speak, but Oikawa beats him to it. “Iwa-chan is a bad kisser,” he pouts, sticking his lip out again and crossing his legs for dramatic effect. 

 

“You were the one who refused to tilt their head!” Hajime says indignantly, about to argue more, when Mattsun raises his head and grins slyly. 

 

‘So, did you feel anything? Any sparks? Did it taste good?” he questions, smirk growing bigger and bigger all the while. 

 

Hajime contemplates his choice of words for a while, and when a better answer doesn’t come to him, he gives up and lifts one shoulder in a helpless shrug. 

 

“It tasted like mouth,” Hajime and Oikawa say at the same time, and whip their heads around to look at each other with the utmost horror. 

 

They have to pause the game temporarily for Watari to stop laughing hysterically, because it’s his turn next. 

 

***

 

It’s only two weeks later when Hajime finds out from Kindaichi that the team actually has a betting pool going on to see when Hajime and Oikawa are going to ask each other out. 

 

“You  _ what _ ,” Hajime says flatly.

 

Kindaichi looks highly uncomfortable, eyes darting in all directions and nervously shuffling his feet. Beside him, Kunimi is frowning a little, eyes flickering from Hajime to Kindaichi, and back again. 

 

“Th-” Kindaichi begins, but is cut off by Kunimi flatly interjecting. 

 

“There’s a betting pool going around the team as to when you and Oikawa-san will date,” he says tonelessly, eyes warning for Hajime to step back and stop scaring Kindaichi. 

 

Hajime gets the hint, and he awkwardly backs up a little, allowing room for Kindaichi to get himself together. Which is fair, really. Kindaichi has always been the nervous one, out of him and Kunimi. 

 

“But- why?” he splutters, once he’s a decent distance away from the duo to communicate without overwhelming Kindaichi. 

 

Kunimi just raises a single eyebrow with cool indifference. “No offense, Iwaizumi-san, but the both of you behave like a married couple.” 

 

“It isn’t- it isn’t like that,” Hajime frantically gestures. 

 

Kunimi raises his eyebrow higher, while beside him, Kindaichi turns red again and hides his face with his hands. 

 

“It- okay, can you just… tell the team to call the bet off?” Hajime finally sighs, knowing this is not at all going to help the rumor that he and Oikawa are apparently in love with each other. Romantically. 

 

“Sure,” Kunimi says calmly. “Do you need anything else from us, Iwaizumi-san? I’ll try my best to tell the rest of the team, but I have no guarantees, because Hanamaki-san and Matsukawa-san were the ones to start it.” 

 

“No, nothing at the moment,” Hajime sighs. “I’ll tell Makki and Mattsun to knock it off, too. Thanks for your help, by the way.” 

 

“No problem,” Kunimi replies, and then walks off, grabbing a still-red Kindaichi by the wrist and pulling him in the opposite direction that Hajime needs to go. “See you, Iwaizumi-san.” 

 

Hajime stands there, looking at their silhouettes against the setting sun, until they vanish. 

 

***

 

Truth to be told, Hajime already knows that what he feels for Oikawa is more than what would be considered normal for an ordinary friendship. 

 

But the word “lovers” seems too close to his heart, too personal, like something he wants to keep his own. Like a dirty little secret. 

 

If they end up dating, if they end up classifying their relationship as a romantic one, he wants it to be on both of their terms, not just his. And if Oikawa is fine with the relationship they have right now, Hajime isn’t going to push their boundaries. He’s fine with the easy, companionable, casual partnership they have now. 

 

Ah, that’s it. 

 

_ Partners _ , Hajime decides.  _ We’re partners.  _

 

***

 

“Hey, Iwa-chan?” 

 

“Mm?” 

  
  
“Can we still be friends, even when we go to different universities?” 

 

_ Will you still be my partner? _

 

“Of course, Shittykawa.” 

 

_ Always.  _

 

**_fin._ **

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: silencedfalcon  
> ao3: silencedmockingjay  
> instagram: silencedmockingjay


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